


For She's a Jolly Good City

by audreycritter



Series: Cor Et Cerebrum [15]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Gen, Rated for swearing, attempted drinking, excessive bromance fluff, minimal angst, no profreading we die like mne, what can go wrong must go wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Jason's 21st birthday turns far more exciting than anyone intended when Dev takes him out for a promised, legal drink.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own them except for original characters.
> 
> In response to a Tumblr ask for Dev and Jason.

The muggy August evening air blankets the patio around the pool and in the fading daylight, the party is winding down. Despite the perfect patrol weather, when it will be cooler but not freezing on the high rooftops, the Wayne family plus usual company is in nearly complete attendance even now.

“I ate way too much steak,” Tim complains from where he’s sprawled across a lounge chair near Steph’s feet, while she sits with her legs drawn up and sips something pink and fizzy from a tall glass.

“No such thing,” Bruce argues, stretched out more comfortably on his own reclined lounge chair. Despite the nearly set sun, he is still wearing sunglasses and it’s hard to tell how awake he is. Steph stretches her legs out and drops them on Tim’s stomach like on a footrest.

“Oof,” is all Tim says. He doesn’t move.

Cass is the only one still actually in the pool, quiet at one end with just her eyes and nose above the water. She’s staring at Damian’s cat, who is regarding her with some suspicion and confusion, tail raised and curled. 

“Don’t,” Bruce says, without lifting his head.

Cass blows bubbles in the water and her eyebrows tilt in an angry slant. She goes completely under and reemerges on the other side of the pool and splashes Dick and Barbara, who are sitting in deck chairs talking. Without a moment’s hesitation, he dives in after her while Babs yells in feeble outrage at Cass or Dick or both of them.

There is another lounge chair near Bruce’s that Alfred is reclined upon, softly snoring and actually asleep without sunglasses. No one bothers him and he does not stir even as Cass and Dick’s battle in the water turns into delighted shrieks and teasing shouts.

On the other end, closer to Tim and Steph, Dev is sitting and mostly just enjoying not moving at all. Damian is sitting on top of Jason’s shoulders the next chair over, looking down past Jason’s head while the older boy– the man, it is a 21st birthday, after all– turns a wooden and metal brain teaser over in his hands. After another moment, Jason holds it up and Damian takes it with a triumphant, “I knew you’d concede defeat.” The boy slips off Jason’s shoulders to the patio in a fluid motion, without using his hands or arms.

“You made a promise,” Jason says, dragging his chair closer to Dev. The legs scrape across the concrete. “I am here in one piece and I haven’t forgotten.”

“Nor have I,” Dev says, still not moving. “And I’m bloody looking forward to it, to be honest.”

“To what?” Tim asks, half sitting to look over at them.

“Plans,” Jason says vaguely, with a crooked grin. “Don’t worry, Timmy. I’ll return him in mostly good shape.”

“Now I’m worried,” Tim says, lying back down anyway. Steph’s feet are still on his stomach. “But keep your secrets.”

“You’ll return me?” Dev demands with a wry laugh. “In what universe? I’ll be returning you.”

Jason stands and stretches and calls out across the pool, “Thank you all for an effing delightful birthday, I’m off for other birthday plans.”

“Designated driver,” Bruce says when Dev and Jason are at the door to inside the manor.

“One beer!” Jason yells as he steps into the house. “One! Friggin.” He glares at Dev. “Did you tell him?”

“Nah, mate, Alfie must’ve,” Dev says, closing the door. “You’re legal, anyway. That’s the point, innit?”

“It’s more fun if it’s a secret,” Jason grumbles. “Why’d you tell Alfred, anyway?”

“I didn’t,” Dev protests. “Alfie knows everything.”

They split up to change out of swim trunks and meet again near the kitchen in day clothes. Dev just grabbed a tee that was in his room, with a partial Batman mask graphic and the words “MY PAY IS JUSTICE.” Jason’s wearing jeans that might or might not have come with the holes already made and a Wonder Woman t-shirt that Dev watched him pull out of a gift bag not an hour ago. 

“Tags, mate,” Dev nods and Jason looks under his arm and rips the store tag off.

“We look like gorram groupies,” Jason says, looking at Dev and then down at himself.

Dev shrugs. 

“Eh, worse things to be.”

There’s a buzzing sound from Jason’s pocket as they walk down the hall toward the front door and the cul-de-sac drive where Dev’s car is parked.

Jason checks his phone and immediately snorts in something that might be indignation or might be amusement. 

“Bruce just sent me the number for GCPD’s bar ride service. Does he think we’re fricking idiots?”

They’ve both stopped at the front door and Dev gives Jason a look, an arched eyebrow and Jason meets the expression with an angry frown that fades to something muted and resigned.

“I rather think your da thinks everyone’s an idiot,” Dev says, opening the front door. “We’ve not given him much reason to think otherwise. But at least he sometimes likes us.”

“He likes you,” Jason corrects. “He loves me. Current ranking says I’m just below Cass unless I screw up again.”

“Oi,” Dev exclaims, stopping again halfway down the steps as Jason jogs ahead. “You’ve an actual ranked list? I’m quite certain that’s a bloody mental idea. Where’s it kept or managed?”

“Group chat,” Jason shrugs, waiting for Dev to catch up. “Tim set it up, I think to prove a point to Damian. We vote anonymously every week, but it’s basically just shuffling us around beneath Cass’ spot.”

“The wanker,” Dev mutters under his breath. But curiosity is getting the better of him anyway. “Who’s lowest, right now, then?”

Jason grins sharply, “I knew you’d have to ask.”

“Sod off,” Dev says, taking the driver’s seat. “Forget it.”

The passenger door opens and then closes as Jason climbs in and buckles. The car starts and Dev rounds the curved drive and pulls out onto the main road.

“Dick,” Jason says. “Dick is at the bottom this week.”

“I said forget it,” Dev laughs. “I’ve enough trouble without carrying all the bloody emotional insecurity wrapped up in this experiment, and I mean to have a word with Timothy.”

“You want to know why,” Jason smirks, drumming his fingers on the dash. “It’s fucking eating you alive.”

Dev focuses on the road. It’s not a difficult stretch but it’s that weird twilight time that makes it hard to see. The beat of Jason’s fingers is speeding up, gaining volume, and Dev leans over and jabs the button for the radio. 

“…joining us for another fine evening here at Mountain Stage…” a calm, deep voice seeps from the speakers in contrast to Jason’s drumming, which has not relented.

“You gorram nerd,” Jason says, turning the radio up. His half-shouted words add to the cacophony. “It’s. Making. You. Go. Crazy.”

Dev slams a hand against the steering wheel and flicks the radio off. Jason’s drumming stops.

“You arse,” Dev complains. “Why is Dick at the bottom of the bloody list?”

“He…” Jason sat up in his seat and cleared his throat. “You sure you’re ready?”

“You’re as bad as your da, you know that?” Dev demands, sighing. “Are we parking at your place and walking, still?”

“That’s the plan,” Jason affirms. “Then we can puke all over my building’s parking lot and crawl up the stairs to my apartment and I can forget which pocket my key is in and we’ll both fucking panic and you can call Tim and cry while I kick my door down and set off the alarm and then Bruce can bail us out of jail in the morning.”

“When I promised to take you out for a drink, that was the promise: a drink. You even shouted as much at your da. I intend to down a pint and call it a night,” Dev says. “But I’m rather flattered you put so much thought into our theorized disorderly conduct arrest.”

“Just being fricking realistic,” Jason says, turning the radio back on and fiddling with the dials while the volume is down. “‘He who fails to plan, plans to fail.’”

“Usually planning to avoid failure doesn’t involve jail time,” Dev observes, his brow creasing. “And bloody wait a moment. Why would I ring Timothy and cry?”

“I dunno,” Jason shrugs and turns the radio back up. It’s pop music and it takes Dev a second to realize he doesn’t understand the words because it’s in Spanish. “That’s just how it worked in my head. Maybe because of that one time.”

“There was sodding _fear toxin_ involved in that one time!” Dev yells over the music. “It’s not like it’s bloody habit!”

“It made a fricking impression, I guess,” Jason yells back. Neither of them reach to turn the radio down. “Dick threw bath bombs into the pool last week. A whole box of them. Bruce was pissed. It made the water look like pond scum and they had to drain the pool.”

“Alfie mentioned the pool had been drained but he wouldn’t say why,” Dev says. “He was rather miffed so I didn’t press.”

“It took hours,” Jason says. “And when Bruce complained, Dick’s only defense was ‘at least they were organic.’”

“What an arse,” Dev laughs.

“I’m not gonna lie, it was pretty fucking sweet. Steph said her hair smelled nice for days.”

“What, did you all swim, then?” Dev asks, startled. 

“Hell yes. But we sang like gorram canaries when Bruce got home. Dick’s still mad at us and Cass is mad at Dick that he didn’t wait til she was back from Hong Kong.”

Dev frowns.

“Is this why Timothy had glitter all over his face on Wednesday?”

Jason snorts, “No. But flaming crickets, now I need to hear that story. Shut up though, I like this song.”

When they get out of the car at Jason’s apartment, Dev looks around the small alley lot and leans against the car.

“You’re not taking your gun, mate,” he says. “And where are we going, anyway?”

“I have a concealed carry!” Jason protests, slamming the door. 

Dev crosses his ankles while he leans and he hums for a minute while Jason gripes and unstraps the holster. 

“I mean, I don’t, but it’s not like anyone’s gonna ask.”

“Both of ‘em, mate. I’m not in the mood to survive a shoot up just because you’re buzzed.”

“You’d rather die in one?” Jason asks with a smirk. “No. I’m bringing this one. It’s my favorite.”

“What are you?” Dev asks, standing up and throwing an arm in the air. “Five?”

“It’s my security item,” Jason says seriously. “But I’ll go put the .45 in my apartment. Somebody told me there’s a new English pub near here. See if you can find directions.”

Dev sighs and pulls out his phone.

Jason comes back out into the lot a few minutes later and Dev has directions memorized already. 

“It’s three blocks west, mate,” he says when Jason is closer.

“West,” Jason echoes. “Fancy. Are you showing off, Dev?”

“I’ll have you know,” Dev glares as they begin walking, “that despite your useless outrage, it was Damian who proved most helpful on that count. Also, Siri will tell me if I ask,” he admits.

“Cheater,” Jason shoots back. 

The streets are crowded so they don’t talk much as they walk and Dev resists the urge to roll his eyes when the spot the pub. The facade is altered from the surrounding building in an attempt to look like a classic pub, but the result is overdone kitsch slapped onto American brick. Even the small, swinging sign is overdone. 

They step into the dim interior and the whole place reeks of alcohol and grease and something Dev can’t quite place. It’s not very busy, though, and when they stop to scan the interior– Dev out of curiosity and Jason out of defensive habit– Jason heads straight for open barstools and mutters, “Shit.”

“Something wrong?” Dev asks, glancing sideways as he sits down. Jason has both hands up shielding his face but he pulls them away and keeps his shoulders hunched.

“It just fricking figures,” Jason complains. “See that guy back there?”

Dev sneaks a look over his shoulder. 

There’s a disheveled looking man in a trenchcoat nursing a tall glass of beer.

“Yeah,” Dev confirms, turning back to the bar and scanning the menu. “Should we go? We can find somewhere else.”

“No,” Jason grumbles. “It’s fine. Maybe he’ll leave me alone. Just order something.”

Despite the garish, twee decor, they have a decent stock of good drinks and Dev orders for himself and Jason orders the same. The bartender doesn’t card Jason.

Before the drinks are even pulled from the tap, the seat next to Jason swivels and the trench-coated man sits down with them and plonks his beer on the bar.

“Hood,” the man hisses under his breath.

“John,” Jason acknowledges, staring stiffly ahead. “You’re a long way from London.”

“You from London, mate?” Dev asks and immediately regrets it.

“You don’t want to stay here,” the man warns, giving Dev a once over. “It’s about to get violent.”

“Are you threatening me?” Jason demands in a whisper. “Fuck off.”

Dev chews his lip and looks around, attempting to find some balance between staying out of it and keeping an eye on things. He’s a bit hampered in this by the ready acknowledgment that there’s not a whole lot he could do if things go downhill, other than keep himself in one piece or swing wildly.

“Despite our…misunderstanding last year,” the other man says slowly while the bartender sets the drinks in front of them and hurries down the bar, “I will let bygones be bygones if you get the hell out of here. I’m not particularly in the mood to explain to Bats why his death aura bird was torn to bits by a starving demon.”

Jason stiffens all over and John tilts his head toward the back of the room.

“I’ve been tracking him,” John says. “Maybe he owes me money. Maybe I just hate the bastard. None of your business. But he’s already noticed you, guv.”

Dev and Jason both look, not very subtly, at the small table of three in the corner. One of the men there is staring straight at Jason with pink-tinged eyes and a hungry expression.

“You run along and I’ll make him forget you,” John says. “We’ll say you owe me one more favor to call it even over Liverpool.”

“I’m not fricking agreeing to owe you anything,” Jason spits out. “I can take him.”

“Probably,” John tips his chin. Dev’s hand is wrapped around his beer but he hasn’t picked it up. “But likely not in one piece. I’m offering you a chance to save your evening.”

“Fine,” Jason growls. “Fudge. Fine! I owe you one. But only because Dev is here.”

“John,” the man offers, leaning forward to offer Dev his hand. Dev shakes it automatically, without thinking.

“Dr. Devabhaktuni,” he replies. 

“Arsenal or Chelsea?” John asks, sipping his beer.

“West Ham,” Dev answers, standing as Jason does.

“Bollocks,” John exclaims and Dev opens his mouth to defend himself, but John is looking past him.

They all whirl to see a woman glowing at another table while a man stands with flames on his palms. Their argument is growing in volume and is definitely not English.

“What is this?” Jason growls at John. “A fricking meta bar?”

“You are a bright one,” John says, downing the rest of his beer. “Get your friend out of here. I’ll handle this.”

“Go,” Jason snaps at Dev, pulling on his arm. “Go, go, go.”

The table between the arguing couple explodes into splinters that almost as quickly freeze, suspended in the air while smoke seeps around their feet. Two more patrons are yelling now and Dev doesn’t have to be told a fifth time.

Out on the sidewalk, they can see the bartender slamming a silver-tipped spear– a spear– on the bar while he stands and shouts at the couple. John is already in the corner with the demon, his hands around the thing’s throat.

“Should we,” Dev swallows, “uh, should we help?”

“No,” Jason spits out, looking uneasy. “John’s a grown-up. Let’s go find another bar. Fucking magicians.”

They’re a few steps away when Dev stops and says, “We didn’t pay.”

“We didn’t drink anything!” Jason exclaims.

“I should go back,” Dev insists. 

“You’d go back into that?” Jason asks incredulously. Dev spins on the sidewalk. The window into the bar is glowing faintly blue and there’s shouting in Latin coming from inside, faint and muffled by the glass.

“Bloody hell, it’s not like I want to,” Dev says. “But it does rather seem like the sort of place that might hunt one down. Just the bartender alone…”

“Had a stake for vampires, not thieving mortals. It was a little redundant but hey, who could blame him. Write down the damn address,” Jason says, grabbing his arm again and hauling him down the sidewalk with a determined frown. “Mail it.”

Dev stops resisting and Jason lets go of his arm.

“Ugh,” Jason says, shuddering a moment later as they walk. “Death aura. He’s so full of shit.”

“You alright, mate?” Dev asks. “We can call it a night.”

“It’s barely evening and you promised me a beer,” Jason says firmly. “I’m fine. Let’s just go into the first place we find.”

The next place they find looks normal on the outside but turns out to be a pulsing, noisy blacklist club once they’re inside, so they duck right back out.

The second place, however, seems normal if slightly run-down. They both order beers, again. Dev slightly mourns the loss of his earlier, nicer beer but doesn’t complain. 

“Happy birthday,” he says, lifting the beer. Jason lifts his in return and but instead of cheer, his face goes blank and instead of thanks, what comes out of his mouth is,

“Don’t move.”

Dev freezes. Jason is looking down the bar with his beer suspended and he slowly lowers it.

“Good gravy,” he exclaims in a harsh whisper. “That’s Tim’s guy. Shit, he’s leaving. Call Tim.”

Without more warning, Jason slides off the stool and reels backward as if drunk, falling against a man in a bright Hawaiian print shirt and white khakis, talking on his phone.

“What the hell,” the man exclaims, as Jason staggers against him. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” Jason warns the man, slurring his words. 

“Not on these shoes, you aren’t!” the man yells, stepping back. Jason goes with him, clutching the shirt. 

“Benny, ya always been there for me,” Jason moans, sounding near tears.

Dev is so startled, watching this, that he feels a stab of panic when he realizes he’s wasted valuable seconds not calling Tim. He presses the contact on his phone and it goes to voicemail while Jason is profusely apologizing to the man while sniffling, promising to make it up to him.

It’s actually dark outside now and on a hopeful gut feeling, he calls Barbara Gordon instead.

“Hiya, Dev,” she answers. “What’s up?”

“Is Red out?” he asks, facing the bar with his head ducked down.

“Yep,” she answers, sounding more serious. “Something wrong?”

“Give him my location?” Dev asks, muting the receiver and turning it to speaker phone. He sets it on the counter.

“You sure you ain’t Benny?” Jason asks, squinting. He pats the man’s hair while leaning on the guy’s shoulder. “You look so much like him, I swear it’s like youse was twins.”

“No,” the man snaps. “I’m Warren Oliver. Half the town knows me.”

“Benny, you don’t gotta lie. I swear I’ve got the money,” Jason wheedles, his face an expression of grave hurt when the man shoves him off. “I know I said I didn’t but you don’t gotta be mean. I came into some. I got it with me, look? I even brought my accountant so we can do it right. I just got a little bored waitin’ for ya, but I can sober up.”

Jason begins crying.

The man gives Dev an up and down look.

“This is your accountant?” he asks skeptically, now no longer refuting his name. Dev isn’t sure if this is because he had been lying or because Jason mentioned money. Either way, he’s not trying to leave.

“I’m not bloody well going to wear office clothes out to drink,” Dev snaps at him and from the other side of the man, away from the man’s attention, Jason gives Dev the briefest of thumbs up.

“Let’s talk,” the man says, “what kind of money? You know I doubled my interest rates last week. It’s a tough economy.”

“It’d be more but my uncle liked Jackie better, everybody always said so,” Jason says bitterly, his words still slurred. “He only left me half his million.”

Dev sees the man’s eyes widen and then gain a predatory gleam. 

“Well, we can work with that. I can be charitable,” the man says coolly. “Should we talk?”

“I need some air,” Jason says loudly, “I need some air. It stinks in here.”

He stumbles out the door and the man follows. Dev throws a ten on the bar and takes his phone and goes out after them with a suppressed sigh.

“I have an office,” the man says.

“It stinks everywhere,” Jason complains. “I never did get why youse like this hellhole, Benny.”

There’s a flash of red and black and the man screams as he’s swept off the sidewalk and carries into the air, swinging from a grappling line.

“That’s our exit cue,” Jason says, standing upright and hurrying away. A small crowd of angry faces has appeared at the bar door and one of them swears at Dev. He hurries to catch up with Jason just as two of them decide he’s worth chasing.

“Run,” Jason orders, turning mid-stride with his fist raised.

“Other arm!” Dev bellows, thinking of Jason’s tendon just recovered from surgery.

“Augh,” Jason growls, switching mid-swing and losing a lot of momentum. He still catches the first pursuer on the jaw hard enough to throw the man backward. His friend stops to help him and Jason runs with Dev.

They’re two blocks away before it’s clear the others gave up, maybe not in the mood for a fight. Dev feels like they narrowly escaped disaster and his heart is thudding in his chest but Jason is grinning.

“Great day!” he says, pleased with himself. “Did you fricking see that? I didn’t even pull my piece.”

“I’m so,” Dev gasps, catching his breath and attempting sarcasm anyway, “proud of you.” 

“You jumped right in!” Jason says, pleased. “But I’d like to thank the men and women of the Academy–”

“You’ve not won an Oscar, mate,” Dev claps Jason on the back. “It was a bit over the top.”

“Professional jealousy,” Jason says, pushing back his hair. “Come lick your wounds at my after party.”

“Speaking of after party,” Dev says, looking around them. “That was the second time we’ve had to leave beers.”

But Jason’s good mood isn’t so easily dampened. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Don’t fricking pout. It was shitty beer anyway. We’ll just go to the bar near my place. Nothing exciting but it’s a quiet place, at least.”

“Does it rather defeat the purpose if we go the place that you already drink?” Dev asks, pushing his own flopped over hair out of his eyes. Steph has been teasing him about needing a haircut and he hasn’t admitted it to himself until right now.

“Do you want a beer or not?” Jason asks. “Hell, Dev. I’m just gonna be glad to have one at this point. We could go to an Applebee’s at this point, for all I care.”

“Let’s do that,” Dev says with a grin. “They’ll card you. Where’s the closest?”

Jason sighs heavily, an exaggerated noise, and slumps forward.

“I can’t fricking talk you out of it now, can I?”

“Bloody hell, no,” Dev says. “Siri, where’s the closest Applebee’s?” 

“There’s one close to my place,” Jason grumbles before Dev’s phone can answer. Dev clicks the phone off. “I hate you.” 

They walk in silence, Jason kicking against the concrete sidewalk as they go. Dev’s mood is considerably improved even if it’s solely on the basis of him being difficult.

The restaurant is built into the ground floor of another building that towers above the sidewalk and they go in through the heavy glass and wood doors to the sounds of conversation and large-screen TVs set to sports channels. After assuring the bored-looking man at the front that they just want the bar and not menus, they’re let in and sit beneath a screen where two men are debating team rosters.

A very pregnant bartender takes their drink orders and says, a little apologetically, “I need some ID, buddy.” 

Jason shoots Dev a dirty look while taking his wallet out and showing it to her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jason says to the bartender in a much kinder tone than his look to Dev. “It’s your job.”

“Aw, happy birthday,” she says, nodding. “I’ll tell the kitchen.”

“Dev,” Jason whines after she goes. “They’re gonna sing or something effing embarrassing.”

The bartender is pulling drinks from the tap on the wall and she stops mid-drink while Dev watches, then she continues after a moment.

“So, you’ll love it, then?” Dev asks. “Mr. Academy Award?”

Jason breathes out long and slow between gritted teeth.

“Steve,” the bartender says to a passing waiter, “tell Taylor to send a slice of cake to the bar. Something nice. Hey, kid, you like maple?”

“Sure,” Jason shrugs.

“One of those blondies,” she clarifies to the waiter. 

She’s two steps away from them with the beers in her hand when her whole body jerks and one beer drops to the floor and shatters, splashing everywhere behind the counter. Dev and Jason half-rise from their stools in unison to look over.

“Shit,” she says in a tight voice. “I’m sorry.” She’s still gripping one beer, white-knuckled, and is bent forward but doesn’t kneel to pick up the shards of glass.

“How far apart?” Dev asks and she looks up at him, escaped strands from her ponytail framing her pale face. 

“What?” she demands, as if offended. 

“Dev’s a doctor,” Jason says, hopping over the bar. He crouches and picks up pieces of glass with his finger tips, and the protest she half-shouts dies away within a second.

“Two minutes,” she says, taking a deeper breath and grabbing a trash bin. She holds it out to Jason. “But only for the past fifteen minutes or so.”

Dev has been hoping the pause at the tap was a beer quality thing.

Dev knew before he asked her that it was a false hope. 

He forces himself to sound calm even though the last thing he wants to deal with tonight is delivering a baby.

“Ma’am,” he says, “I don’t want to be a sodding bother, but that sounds rather a good bit like labor.”

“‘Rather a good bit’,” Jason mimics in a mocking tone, but Dev hears a mild edge of fear in it.

“No,” she says dismissively. “It’s just those false contractions. I’m not due for another three weeks. And my water hasn’t even broken.”

Dev closes his eyes, very briefly, and then looks right at her.

“I’m well aware this is going to sound bloody rude, but is it possible that you’re in denial?”

“Oh my god,” she says, her eyes wide. “Oh my god.” 

She stops again, one hand to her belly, and leans on the trashcan propped precariously on the rubber mats behind the bar. This time, a groan escapes her while she’s bent there.

“Oh my god,” she hisses for a third time. “And while my car is in the shop. Damn it, Ryan.”

“Everything okay?” a waiter pokes his head over the bar.

“Call me a cab,” she hisses back. “Right now.” 

“With the Knights pre-game happening?” he asks, startled. “Are you kidding?” 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” she snaps. 

“We’ll give you a ride,” Jason says quickly, standing and flicking beer off his fingers. “Dev works at the hospital.” 

“I’m a neurosurgeon,” Dev says. He’s not trying to brag; he intended it as an argument against Jason’s implied transfer of authority. 

“Thank you,” she says with relief, which is not the reaction he was hoping for, but he swallows his own inherent desire to avoid involvement here and mentally shifts to state of mind more suited for work. 

“Jason, go get my car,” he says, tossing the younger man the keys. Jason ignores the swinging door set in the bar and jumps over the counter again. He hits the ground running. The bartender moves more slowly, taking the time to untie her apron and throw it over the bar, which strikes Dev as oddly mundane.

“I’m an idiot,” she mutters. “An idiot. I just didn’t want it to happen this soon.” 

“It’s alright,” Dev says gently. “Is this your first?”

“Do I look like an expert?” she shoots back, with a frustrated frown. She winces and leans on a bar stool. “Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Dev,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Yvonne,” she says, her jaw tense. “And I’m not having this baby in Applebee’s.” 

“No,” he agrees, almost as much for himself as for her, he thinks. “You aren’t. Can you make it to the front alone? I’ll lend my arm if you need it.”

“I can walk,” she says, standing and moving slowly.

A few people are watching but also keeping their heads down, staying out of it now that it’s clearly not turning into something to film or anything more exciting. By the time she makes it to the front door, a busboy has handed off her purse to Dev and Jason is parked halfway on the sidewalk arguing with a cop.

“Oh,” the cop says when Dev and Yvonne emerge. She gives him the finger and he backs off.

“I freaking told you!” Jason snaps and the officer leaves after threatening to write a ticket if he sees Jason again. The car is still idling and Jason pauses by the bumper, while Dev opens the rear door for Yvonne. “You or me driving?” he asks.

“You,” Dev answers, sliding onto the rear bench to sit with her just in case. For the first time in months, he’s grateful that Tim talked him into getting a bigger car when he replaced the hatchback. Inside, she moans while trying to buckle. “Don’t bother,” he tells her.

“I’m not gonna kill me and my baby,” she argues, clicking the seat belt clasp into place anyway.

Jason peels off the sidewalk and into traffic, which is thankfully light. 

“Fastest way to hospital?” he asks, taking a left.

“Why are you driving if you don’t know that?” Dev exclaims angrily. “Take Wilson street up here.”

“Which one is Wilson? None of the signs are up!”

“Oh my god,” Yvonne says.

“The one with– right there– the one with the Asylum Coffeeshop and you missed it already. Take Killdeer instead.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Jason yells. “Who gives directions with street names? Do I go north or south to avoid the one-ways?”

“Can everybody just calm down,” Yvonne asks in a deadly quiet tone.

“Siri, which–”

“Don’t fucking ask Siri,” Jason snaps at Dev. “Killdeer, I see it, good freaking lord. Left?”

“Right!” Dev corrects, trying to curb his mounting frustration. 

“Left is right or right, right?” Jason asks.

“Toward the dry cleaner with the busted machines,” Yvonne says, swearing right after.

“Thank you!” Jason says, jerking the wheel.

“I’m gonna die,” Yvonne says and Dev stops watching the road and cringing at Jason’s driving and refocusing. She’s got a thin sheen of sweat on her brow and her hand is splayed across the seat.

“My driving isn’t that bad,” Jason says, sounding worried. 

Dev offers her his hand and she takes it and squeezes hard.

“I’m gonna die,” she says again. “This is gonna kill me. I want an epidural. I changed my mind.” 

Something, a small light, goes off in the back of Dev’s mind from years ago during his residency rotations and it is only years of practice that keep him from cringing. 

“Love, I’m quite sure it’s too late for that,” he says in an apologetic tone. It’s unpleasant but it’s also pointless to not be truthful. “Jason, a bit faster, mate?”

“Just take me home,” she says. “I’m not doing this today.” 

“What?” Jason yelps.

“Ignore that,” Dev says sternly. “You’re doing rather well,” he says to her. “Honestly.” 

“You really are,” Jason says, looking at her in the rearview mirror. He’s acting far less panicked now that he’s on a familiar route. “I’ve whined and cried more about a broken arm before, and that’s nothing.”

She’s looking at Jason now as he talks, telling her about another pregnant woman he helped who was apparently “a screamer,” and Dev uses his free hand to pull out his phone and dial a memorized number.

“Emergency department,” the nurse answers. 

“Hullo,” he says. “This is Dr. Devabhaktuni from neurology. I’m enroute with an L&D patient who’s–” he glances over as Yvonne’s grip tightens and she groans, a deep and buried sound. “I’d say she’s in transition,” he assesses. 

“I’ll have an OB down here,” the nurse promises. “How far away are you?”

“Less than five minutes,” he says and hangs up.

“I’m gonna hurl,” Yvonne says, her hands shaking. “Your car.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dev assures her, grabbing an empty coffee cup Tim had left in the cup holder earlier in the day. He pries the lid off and holds the cup for her. “This might help but honestly, if you miss, the car will clean up.”

She’s crying now, and stops to vomit as predicted, and begins crying again. 

“You’re both being so nice,” she complains. “My deadbeat ex-boyfriend isn’t even in town. I was gonna be all alone.”

Yvonne groans again and Dev puts the cup back down in the cup holder just as Jason skids to a stop in front of the ER doors. A nurse is waiting with a wheelchair and Dev suspects it’s for Yvonne but he’s willing to commandeer it if not.

“We have Dr. Hawkins down here,” the nurse says as Dev opens the door for Yvonne, who refuses for a moment to move while she trembles. Then she hurries from car to wheelchair, sitting sideways. “They’re prepping a room down here.”

The nurse begins asking Yvonne questions that the woman answers with gasping breaths and Jason stands next to the car, looking helpless. Dev lets the nurse push her away until Yvonne twists her head and cries, “Wait, aren’t you coming?”

Jason and Dev exchange a glance and almost as quickly she says, “No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t even know me.”

“We’ll stay,” Jason says, striding forward with Dev at his side. “What’s a little more blood in our lives.”

“I think I need to push,” Yvonne moans in answer to this. “Like, right now.”

“Wait,” the nurse says sharply.

“You’re fine,” Dev says, taking her hand again. “It’s alright. Take a deep breath. We’re nearly there and you can do whatever you need.”

An hour later, Jason and Dev sit in Dev’s own office, looking a little shell-shocked.

“Fuck,” Jason says after five minutes of quiet.

“Fuck,” Dev answers wearily. 

“Fuck!” Jason exclaims, looking at Dev.

“Fuck,” Dev agrees, leaning back in his office chair. “This is why I’m not an OB.”

“Okay, now I need a beer,” Jason says. “But what the fricking hell happens if we try again?”

“We can’t risk it,” Dev says. 

“I mean, at least she’s okay. And the baby,” Jason says, as if to himself. “It wasn’t that bad. It’s a good thing, even.”

“Yeah,” Dev nods. “Could have been much worse, bloody hell.”

“We’re gonna go get a beer anyway, right?” Jason asks, slumping down on the office couch. “Just say screw it and go?”

“Wake me up in an hour and ask,” Dev says, letting his eyes drift shut. “Maybe I’ll have rallied by then.”

“Okay,” Jason says. “This is a gorram comfortable couch. I’ll just wait for you.”

Jason himself is pretty drowsy, coming off an adrenaline high.

“Happy birthday, Zombie Boy,” Dev says, reclining the office chair with a lever.

“You haven’t called me that all day,” Jason mumbles. “Thought you were going soft, Dr. Frankenstein.”

“Bloody hell, no,” Dev says. “Just don’t like upsetting Alfie.”

Jason doesn’t answer. He’s already asleep.

Dev is out a moment later, the office light still on overhead.


End file.
